***
The thunderstorm raged angrily. Rain lashed the roof of the spaceship. Several times she thought the harsh winds would roll the ship over.
She sat on her bed, thinking about the route she needed to take.
She guessed it would be about an hour walk to the water.
Once she was there, she could follow the river to the valley. That might take another hour or so.
Once she was in the valley, she would improvise.
Memories of her past kept flitting in and out of her thoughts. She usually tried not to think about her past. She had learned to completely clear her mind and think of nothing.
But sitting here in the rainforest, waiting out the thunderstorm, it was harder.
She breathed in and breathed out. Breathed in, breathed out.
Still waiting. Nothingness.
Sitting around.
If there was one thing she hated, it was idle time.
This was no way to live, even for a few hours.
Yet she couldn’t leave. She would catch a cold in this rain, and God knows what she would do if she was stuck in the middle of the rainforest with a fever. There’d be no surviving it.
She beat her head against the wall three times.
“Rain, rain, go away…”
But the rain drummed against the roof and the thunder rumbled louder than before.
She beat her head against the wall three more times.
“Rain, rain, go away…”
She closed her eyes, but did not sleep through the storm.
***
She focused her thoughts on the man she was after.
The lead scientist of the Zachary Empire.
Tavin Miloschenko.
A man who was responsible for the deaths and disappearances of over a hundred thousand men, women and children.
A man without, from what she could tell, remorse.
She remembered his leathery face, the day-old stubble, the way his graying hair fell on his shoulders. He wore golden sunglasses and a drab gray suit with a gold chain around his neck. She’d met him at the annual Zachary Galaxy Ball. She’d crashed the party, flashing her GALPOL badge to security. They couldn’t deny her. Everyone stared at her, dressed up in gowns and suits and masquerade masks. She’d found Miloschenko in the corner of the Grand Ballroom, a room with brocaded walls and windows as tall as three-story houses.
He was drinking a scotch, cradling a highball glass in the base of his palm. He raised an eyebrow when she approached.
“Devika Sharma, GALPOL,” she said, not wasting any time.
“So?” he asked.
“You mind talking to me in private, or do you want to do this the hard way and talk here in public?”
“A man of my talents,” Miloschenko said, “always does things the hard way.”
“Fine,” she said.
By then a crowd had stopped to watch.
“All I ask is that you keep your voice down,” Miloschenko said. He sat at a white table and motioned her to join him.
She grabbed a chair and straddled it backwards. The move, deliberate on her part, threw Miloschenko off, and he eyed her suspiciously.
“I know what you’ve been up to,” Devika said.
“Do you mean my successes in weapons technology?” he asked. “Please do tell me about my incredible accomplishments.”
“You’re trafficking slaves,” she said.
Miloschenko laughed. “Why would I do a silly thing like that?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet,” she said. “But I’m here today to warn you to stop.”
“Or what?”
Silence.
A new song played, and people began to dance across the dance floor.
“You’re overstaying your GALPOL welcome,” Miloschenko said. “You think that because you’re galactic police, you can traipse anywhere in the galaxy. But it doesn’t mean that you are immune from physical danger, Miss Sharma.”
Devika studied his face. His threat was serious.
“Threatening a GALPOL agent is a galactic offense,” she said. “Are you sure you want to continue that line of thought?”
“Threatening a leader of the Zachary Empire is foolish,” Miloschenko said. “Especially with no proof. The Emperor would be displeased to hear about this.” He leaned forward. “But then again, you don’t have any evidence to make an arrest, do you?”
She kept her face blank.
He’d called her bluff.
He was smarter than she thought.
“I’m here to give you your one and only warning,” Devika said. “We know what you’re up to. If you want to do the right thing, release all the people you currently have in your possession around the galaxy. We estimate the current number at about ten thousand. If you do that, maybe we’ll drop the investigation. If the human rights violations continue, however, I will personally ensure that you go to jail for the rest of your life and then some.”
Miloschenko sipped his scotch.
“Tell me, Miss Sharma,” he said. “Of all the things that GALPOL investigates—spacetime crimes, drug smuggling, Argosian aggression—why do you choose to waste your time on the Zachary Empire? We have been your staunchest allies.”
“And violators.”
“If you mean the terrible attacks we performed on Traverse II, please know that we were simply asserting our right to defend ourselves.”
“By killing innocent people?”
Miloschenko laughed.
“I believe you haven’t answered my question,” he said.
“GALPOL does not observe special relationships,” Devika said. “We observe special crimes, though.”
She stood.
“If you see me again, Mr. Miloschenko, it means you’re going to jail. And do consider that a threat.”
Miloschenko stood, flushed.
“And if you see me again… stay on your toes, Miss Sharma,” he said.
The comment unnerved her.
Two hands grabbed her.
Security guards.
She pushed them away.
“I can escort myself out,” she said.
She started for the entrance to the ballroom. When she reached the door, she spotted Miloschenko talking to someone. She couldn’t see the other man’s face. He was tall and stately, and he wore a white and black suit. He had blonde hair tied up into a man-bun.
She had seen this man before… his air looked so familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
As the man turned to look at her, the security guards blocked her view.
She left the ballroom angry…
That was just a few days ago.
And she had seen Miloschenko again.
The bastard had shot her out of the sky.
And now she was here in the rainforest… and she had to get out.
As the thunderclaps grew farther apart and the rain faded, she climbed off her bed and put her head in her hands.
An hour must have passed already.
She’d lost track of time. She didn’t believe in carrying watches. She didn’t normally care to know what time it was.
But now, she found herself wondering what the sky looked like outside.
Would she get to the river?
Would she get to the valley?
Would there be daylight left?
She slung her backpack over her shoulder and started into the hallway.
Outside, the rain-slicked trees dripped water and the air was wet with the thick, intoxicating smell of blooming plants.
She came to the window and climbed out, starting to make her way down the hull.
Then she heard something.
Footsteps.
Of several people.
And then voices.
“Hey, looks like the ship landed here.”
Devika cursed and scampered up the hull. She threw herself through the window and fell on the floor.
CLANG!
She landed on her tuna cans. They clattered and r
olled down the hallway.
She cursed again and lay flat on the floor, out of sight.
“What was that?” the voice said. “Let’s go check it out.”
Chapter 5
Devika crawled through the hallway as the footsteps intensified.
“It came from up there,” a voice said.
She listened, but couldn't determine how many people there were.
From what she could tell, there was at least one man and one woman.
They sounded like military types.
She crawled back toward her room but remembered that the airlock was obscured by vegetation, and the bay door was broken. She wouldn't be able to escape that way without making a lot of noise. If she could even escape at all.
If she waited in her room, that would be certain death.
Her only route was through the cockpit, which was crumpled up and caving in on itself. A cavern of broken glass and jagged metal.
She crawled on her elbows past the open window. She did not look outside.
Encroaching darkness met her as she made her way into the depths of the ship.
Outside, she heard a clanging sound.
Someone was climbing up the hull.
She picked up her pace. She reached the stairwell to the cockpit.
No windows.
She ran quietly up the carpeted stairs into the cockpit.
Someone jumped into the ship.
The tuna cans rattled.
“Bunch of food cans,” a woman said. “Looks like someone set them here.”
“Keep your handcoil at the ready,” a male voice said from below.
Devika tried to orient herself in relation to the voices.
The footsteps outside had stopped.
There must have only been two of them.
A breeze blew through the broken window in the cockpit and she shivered.
Her only way out was to climb through the jagged glass.
She wouldn't be able to see outside until she was outside. She didn't like that.
But it was her only choice.
She climbed onto the instrument panel and delicately placed her hands on the metal frame of the ship, careful to avoid jagged glass triangles left in the groove where the windshield met the frame.
She stepped onto the metal frame.
Glass crunched quietly. She maneuvered her boots and kicked the glass back into the cockpit.
Below, a perpendicular tree branch crisscrossed the ship, supporting its weight. It led off into the foliage, into cover and safety.
“See anything?” the male asked.
“Just a bedroom,” the woman said.
“Check the cockpit. Maybe the chick died in the crash.”
Devika scowled.
So they were looking for her.
She hopped down onto the branch. The bark was wet from the rain.
She followed the branch until she reached a wall of crumpled metal.
She couldn't pass. She would have to hang and climb below the metal. After that she would be safe.
She turned her back to the wall to position herself to hop down.
But her foot slipped and she fell backward.
Her backpack snagged on the jagged metal edges of the hull.
She hung, suspended in the air.
The metal groaned—creaked and moaned—
“What was that?” the male said.
The moan started off low, but then turned into high-pitched shearing as the metal hull collapsed, broke off from the ship, and fell over the branch.
Devika held her breath as she plummeted toward the forest floor.
Something jolted her upward.
Then she flew back down.
And up.
Like a yo-yo.
She looked up.
The wall.
Her backpack was stuck on the broken bit of hull.
She hung defenseless in the air.
And then she saw her pursuers.
A man in gray battle armor. He carried a rifle. On the ship, a woman in battle armor was climbing down the rear hull.
Devika and the two soldiers stared at each other, their mouths agape.
Devika reached for her handcoil.
The man aimed his rifle.
The woman dove into the foliage.
BLAM!
Devika fired but missed.
The man fired.
The shot hit Devika’s backpack strap. The strap ripped in half.
She fell downward. Then bounced.
Looked up.
One strap was holding her—and barely.
“Uh oh,” she said.
She pulled up on the strap and it gave way as coilshots flew past her.
She fell and crashed onto the forest floor. She jumped up shooting, hitting the man in the head. He flew backward and a rifle shot cracked through the sky, scattering a flock of birds.
Devika rolled behind a tree and reloaded her handcoil, shakily sliding bullets inside.
Her vision narrowed. All she could see was the gray ship.
The dead man on the ground.
A glimmer of brown hair in the trees.
The woman.
CRACK! CRACK!
Bullets ripped into the trees nearby.
Devika fired back, trying to estimate where the woman was.
Silence.
The reverberations of the coilshots settled. Frightened birds and monkeys screamed from the canopy.
Devika rested with her back against the tree.
Had she hit the woman?
She started to turn when—
CRACK! CRACK!
Thump. Rustle, rustle…
Devika knew that sound anywhere.
She sprinted into the foliage, breathing deeply to pace herself. She—
BOOM!
A grenade exploded in the trees and she dove.
Shrapnel rained from the sky, striking trees behind her.
She sighed.
She had been out of range.
She pulled herself up into a run, breaking through the darkness of the forest ahead as more shots rang out.
Chapter 6
“Bok bok, pa-bok bok!”
An Argus screamed at Devi as she drove a pick into asteroid rock.
She was on an asteroid floating through space.
For the last three hours she had smelled her own breath continuously as she and a group of children mined for ore.
The stars were impossibly far away, and there were no planets, even in the distance. Just bright work lights secured into the rock.
Devi swung. The pick clinked against the metal, but then wobbled. She wobbled too.
The Argus pointed at the rock again. In his black spacesuit, his snorting sounded like a robotic piston.
She was starting to understand their language. It was, as Wilmer Boles told her, all about the intonation.
She translated the pig’s words in her head.
“Pa… Ag. Bok. Gain. A-gain. Again.”
She drove the pick into the rock, loosening pebbles.
The pig grunted with satisfaction, then walked away.
She hated the work. But it kept her mind off the impossibility of it all, that she would be an Argus slave for the rest of her life, that she would never again know life without shackles around her feet or an Argus breathing down her back, telling her to work harder and faster.
She hated their guttural language and hated that she was beginning to understand it. Yet understanding it had made her life better somewhat.
How many days had it been?
She'd lost count.
They had paraded her from asteroid to asteroid.
Her fingers bled from constantly swinging the pick.
The shackles, fastened to her suit with a thousand-pound weight on the other end, dug into her ankles. The skin was raw and tender from where the metal band gripped her suit tightly, squeezing. It had become a dull pain that she grew used to.
Her breath stank like no other—the
y fed her slop, made her and the other children crowd around a trough and fight each other for the brown gloop that had bits of lettuce and carrots floating on the top like raw sewage.
Her teeth hurt. Her stomach growled. She would have cried, but she didn't even know if her eyes could make any more tears.
She kept thinking… what had she done to deserve this?
Was there not a god?
The gods of her mother and father? Where were they? Why would no one answer her prayers? Every night she prayed with her eyes closed as she lay on her back on a cold hard floor.
Finally, she had decided to stop praying. And nothing changed much.
She swung her pick again and cut a rock in half. Ore sparkled on the inside.
She picked it up.
“Ore-bok!” she shouted.
I have ore.
The Argus snatched the ore from her, held it up to his face and then nodded. Snorting, he pointed to a spaceship that was docked on the asteroid.
“Bok…” he said.
Rest.
She sighed as the Argus unlatched the chains on her suit and connected them to another, longer chain that led the way to the ship and stopped her from flying into space.
She grabbed the new chain and worked her way toward the ship.
Next to her, a little girl, no more than five or six, collapsed to the ground.
“She's not breathing!” someone said.
The Argus floated over and poked the girl.
The little girl didn't respond.
A little boy next to her cried.
“She's dead!”
All across the asteroid, the kids screamed. Through the radio in her suit, the screams crackled and filled her ears. Devi put her hands to the place where her ears met the helmet. She screamed herself.
The Argus motioned to another pig, who floated over as if the girl’s unconsciousness was nothing unusual.
The pig rolled the girl over, inspected her.
Devi froze.
The girl’s eyes were wide open.
She was dead.
Devi began to cry. She didn't know why. She didn’t even know the girl!
But tears streaked her face and landed on the glass of her helmet.
The Arguses spoke to each other in an animated tone. She tried to follow them.
“Ong-pa.”
“Pa-bok ong.”
Zero Magnitude (Galaxy Mavericks Book 3) Page 3
